Tempered
by SleeperAwakens
Summary: AU. Harry always knew to get out before it hits the fan. After Voldemort's resurrection, he grabs Sirius and leaves Britain for the bigger world on a vacation he wanted all his life. His ability to outrun destiny and Harry Potter brand luck is up to debate, though. Artificier!Harry, world exploration, magical races, no bashing. Abandon all cliches, ye who enter here.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I own neither Harry Potter or your soul.**

 **Yet.**

The evening was serene.

It was the kind of night which saw promises made by young lovers and vicious murders committed by men who have nothing to lose. Warm air blew a smattering of dust along the sidewalk; the light of a half-full moon and dim beautiful lanterns softly cut through the shadows and, if you stood near the road and listened carefully, you could make out the sound of mothers cajoling their kids to bed.

It was the fourth of August, 1996. A suburb of Paris was experiencing a particularly warm evening. Most windows were open in hopes of summoning a breeze and the whole picture practically radiated contended sleepiness.

A teen walked onto the street; his vacant gaze slid over the features of cottages on either side of the street betraying ignorance of his location. His black hair fell to his shoulders in a barely organised heap, giving him a wild appearance. He wore an understated affair of jeans, a shirt with rolled-up sleeves, a sleeveless jacket of greenish leather and black boots. A pair of angular spectacles, which would occasionally reflect the light of the lanterns, covered his green eyes. He carried a shapeless bag over his right shoulder, hitting his leg on every other step and producing a light jingle. His left hand was covered with a black leather glove. If one looked carefully at it, they would notice several strings of barely-visible runes covering the fingers and a circle of similar characters on the back.

Despite being engrossed in thought, the teen was quite alert, as he noticeably tensed when he heard a sudden screech behind him. He sprung to his right and twisted around in a ready stance. His posture visibly relaxed after seeing a cat on one of the dumpsters nearby with its hair standing up, more shocked than the teen at the sound. He shook his head with a rueful grin and continued to walk.

However, he took no more than five steps before he heard the sound of multiple voices on a parallel street – judging from the tone used, someone was in the middle of a heated argument. On noticing a flash of intense green spell light from his right, he stopped, and his forehead creased. The color was worrisome and begged to be investigated.

Still, the teen was not what he once was, and rushing into trouble did not define him anymore. He shook his head and continued his aimless walk, if ever-so-slightly faster.

However, it was simply not to be. The voices came closer, as did the steps of multiple people from the side-walk ahead of him. The young man immediately and quietly made a tactical retreat behind the nearest dumpster, spooking the already weirded-out cat. Which, after a moment of deliberation decided that the strange human was safer than the approaching source of shouts and abnormal noises, held its position on the dumpster, only occasionally throwing a distrusting look at the teen.

He barely managed to sit down on the asphalt when a trio of men ran out on the sidewalk, pointing intricately carved sticks of wood at a young woman who had just demolished a part of a decorative fence to make her way to the same street.

The teen heard the woman spit out a couple of words in French, and the bored-sounding answer in a deep male voice. He frowned, fished a similar wooden stick out of his pocket and started fiddling with a simple metallic amulet on his neck, tapping it with his wand in a couple of places and smirking in satisfaction, now able to understand the argument.

"…You really should not be so obstinate. Judging by our information, you don't even know how to use it, and therefore, you don't need it, no?" The deep voice continued.

"No need for things to become even more violent," a nasal baritone added threateningly.

"Now listen here," the woman's voice trembled, whether it was from rage or fear, he couldn't tell. "That dog has no business trying to take what belongs to me by birthright!"

"On the contrary, my dear," the man said sarcastically, "Now, my patience is running out. Hand over the stone, or bear the consequences. You may be well-trained, but it is three-on-one," he murmured in a low tenebrous voice.

The woman spat something that the translation amulet failed to catch. The hiding young man frowned and pulled at his left-hand glove, making the runes flare just a bit brighter.

"You are making a mistake, mademoiselle. You can't escape, and you can't win. Do you really want to…?" the nasal voice tried to reason, but a bright red flare interrupted him. The teen frowned and carefully began sliding alongside the dumpster, closer to a low stone fence that would shield him while he made his escape. However his plans went pear-shaped when a deflected concussion curse blew the dumpster he'd been hiding behind to bits, sending him to the ground and hitting him with a sheet of plastic to his back.

"Just… a freaking vacation," he coughed, getting to his feet and deflecting a follow-up curse with a translucent shield that sprung up from his glove. "Is it too much to ask?"

(O)(O)(O)

 **Two weeks before**

 **Diagon Alley, Britain**

The magical street in the centre of London was as lively and colourful as always. While it was still rather early in the morning, most shops were open. Most importantly, the bank of Gringotts was open.

A couple of what appeared to be men in elegant, if understated, robes with face-covering hoods walked through the Alley with purposeful strides. They didn't attract much attention – people around them were still too sleepy to bother themselves with looking at passers-by.

The men briskly entered the bank and approached the closest teller. After a brief whispered conversation, the goblin nodded and jumped off his seat, beckoning the duo to follow.

Ten minutes later, the younger of them sat in a well-furbished office, gaping at a rather tall goblin sitting across the table from him.

"I'm afraid I'm not joking, Mr. Potter."

"Unbelievable," the teen moaned, covering his face with his hands. He was sitting on a ridiculously comfortable chair in the office of his account manager, Tearshape. Generally, this would mean that he had come up with yet another insane money-making scheme, which would usually succeed and give him a new hill of gold in his vault. However, the same mad plots tended to bite him in the arse sometimes, and this is what exactly happened today.

"If I could help you, I would," the goblin shrugged helplessly, looking just as upset with the situation as his primary client. Goblins were paid a percentage of the account they managed, after all. "But perhaps you should have tried to avoid being caught red-handed after murdering that boy."

"I was set up, Tearshape. I resent the implication that I am some blundering fool who'd just leave his wand lying over the corpse. If I had really decided to kill him, I would have made it look like an accident and have an iron-clad alibi. It's not like that would be difficult, considering the fact that the Triwizard Tournament has a long record of similar _accidents_ ," Harry answered, rubbing his aching head. "So, you can't do anything?"

"No. You were convicted of killing your fellow student during the last Task of the Triwizard Tournament. The rules are clear, I'm afraid: according to the Treaty signed after the last rebellion, the convicts' vaults are to be frozen until their sentence is served."

"Why was my godfather able to withdraw funds, then? Ah, never mind, he wasn't convicted in the first place."

"Indeed. Now, as your sentence was for life, there is nothing to be done. You can't take money from the vault or make any transaction, but should you father children, the vault and all assigned property would pass to them."

"That's a rather far off perspective," Harry grumbled, thinking deeply. "Could you manage it on your own?"

"No, I'm afraid. Even should I manage to unfreeze the vault – and that is next to impossible – I would need your written permission, and you are supposed to be in Azkaban."

Harry nodded grimly, resigned. After a goodbye, he left the office, put the hood of a dark, nondescript cloak over his head and was escorted to the main entrance by a couple of surly guards.

Last year, his fifth year of magical education, he was forced to compete in the Triwizard tournament. He made a good showing, but the other champions – including the deceased Reinth, a seventh-year Slytherin student – were much more skilled than he was. However, that proved irrelevant when during the last Task, Harry and Reinth, in the heat of a duel, both grabbed the Goblet – which, as it turned out, was a portkey that transported them to a graveyard, where a half-immaterial Voldemort immediately murdered Reinth and bound Harry in conjured ropes.

The Dark Lord then proceeded to steal blood from him, which he evidently intended to use in some sort of ritual to return his body. Fortunately, Harry managed to escape while Voldemort was otherwise occupied. When he arrived at Hogwarts and told the Minister and the Aurors of what had happened, they only found Reinth's cold body with Harry's wand nearby. Priori Incantatem revealed that it was this exact wand that cast the Killing Curse, and Harry was immediately arrested. He was tried in a month's time and in the face of overwhelming evidence, sentenced to life in Azkaban.

Fortunately, he had some good friends. Hermione, Ron, Neville and Luna managed to cook up an insane plan to switch him with a golem (which he had created in his fifth year as a side-project for extra credit on his OWLs). They were helped in this by Mad-Eye Moody, Dumbledore and Tonks.

Harry thought he managed to escape scot-free, and as long as no one recognised him, he was golden. However being convicted did apparently lead to some unpleasant consequences. He and Sirius had been planning to escape Britain and travel the world, but this plan was a costly one. He knew that Sirius would gladly share the Black fortune, but being unable to pay for his own expenses was galling.

The teen shook his head. Whatever happened, he shouldn't waste time on useless self-pity. He covertly looked around to see if anybody was watching, then ducked into Ollivander's wand shop.

Fortunately for him, there was no one there besides the owner himself, who was rifling through a large crate near the wall opposite the entrance.

"Mr. Ollivander?"

"Yes, yes, just wait a second…" The old man closed the lid and straightened, wiping his hands on a handkerchief. Then he turned around.

Immediately, his eyebrows rose to his hairline.

"Well, this is unexpected."

"I assume you got Professor Dumbledore's letter?" Harry half-asked, pitching the material of the heavy cowl that covered his face unconsciously.

"Yes, I did. Fortunately, Mr Potter, I trust his word, and if he vouches for you, then it is good enough for me," Ollivander answered curtly, walking to the door and spelling it shut. Then he put a sign on it and dropped the curtains on the windows. When he turned around to face the teen, there was no trace of his previous displeasure on his face.

"I recall you being a rather difficult customer last time you were here," he noted with a small, enigmatic smile. "Let's see if that changed over five years of your education, shall we?"

He snapped his fingers, turned around sharply and picked a wand case from the shelf near him.

It seemed that Harry was just as much, if not more so, difficult to match to a wand as the first time. One hour and forty minutes later, Harry was the proud owner of a new wand. Crafted from sycamore wood, it held a phoenix feather core just as his previous one and was a supple thirteen inches in length.

"This wand is a bit longer," Harry noted, carefully twirling it in his fingers to get used to the balance. It felt odd but not unwelcome.

"Long wands are usually the mark of flamboyant or temperamental wizards," Ollivander stated, slightly amused, "They also sympathise with creative and unconventional minds."

Harry made an amused sound. After hanging out with Luna for as much as he did, any person would find their minds becoming more open to possibilities.

"And the wood?"

"Sycamore fig, or the Great Maple. High quality, beautiful wood. Beware, though: this wand will resist being used for mundane tasks. However, you will never find a better focus for the greatest and most wonderful of magics," Ollivander took the wand back and put it in its case lovingly. "I rarely use Great Maple, it is too temperamental for my tastes and very particular about the choice of their owner, but whenever a sycamore wand finds its match, it is usually in travellers and researchers, people eager for new experiences and knowledge."

Harry nodded thoughtfully. _How appropriate._

After paying for the wand with the money Sirius had given him earlier (which still rankled) and saying goodbye to the creepy wandmaker, Harry met up with Sirius outside of Gringotts, and they left for Grimmauld Place. After carefully entering the dreary house and verifying that no one was there to notice their absence, they entered the living room. Sirius lit a fire with a negligent wave while Harry sat down in the closest armchair, fiddling with his new wand thoughtfully.

"So?" Sirius asked cheerfully, dropping into the other armchair and stretching his legs. "Did you do what you wanted?"

Harry tsked irritably.

"No. As I was convicted, my assets were frozen until an heir arrives somehow or I get released. Both are incredibly unlikely to happen in near future."

Sirius shrugged.

"Well, that's a shame, but I have money enough for both of us. Don't worry about it, Harry."

"I hate being a freeloader," Harry grumbled, and his wand shot out a couple of sparks. One of them hit the teen in the eye, making him clutch at it and spit a few choice curse phrases.

"You're not. You're my godson, and I'm supposed to take care of you, so hush. In any case, now that you have a wand, we're all set to get out of the country. We can bugger off as early as tomorrow."

"Then let's get on with it." Harry nodded and hid the wand after giving it a suspicious glance. "I have already said my goodbyes to everyone who won't blab to Dumbledore. The rest will have to be happy with a letter."

(O)(O)(O)

Two hours later, the frequent visitors started to slowly trickle in. Lupin was the first to arrive, entering the kitchen and making himself and the duo of convicts a spot of tea. Some time after that, Emmeline Vance returned from her shift in St. Mungo's and collapsed on the couch in the living room, barely able to murmur some greetings. Then Mad-Eye Moody trudged along, grumbling about contraband and Death Eater greenhorns, drank a pint of firewhiskey and left again. He did not return until later that evening, when the majority of the rest had gathered, bringing along Tonks and Kingsley.

The whole company took over the dining room, exchanging news and killing time with small talk. Finally, at seven PM, Dumbledore showed up. Harry immediately excused himself good-naturedly, knowing that he would be inevitably kicked out when the meeting began.

He slowly ascended the stairs, recalling the past month of his life in this house. It hadn't been all that incredible – the house's dull and dreary atmosphere would take its toll on anyone, plus he wasn't at all enthused by his status, but his godfather did all he could to lift his spirits. They spent days bonding over their Hogwarts experiences, talking about Harry's parents; the pranks and other little joyous moments that Sirius managed to recall. They spoke of the trip Sirius took to Spain and the United States after their confrontation at the Shrieking Shack. Sirius got a kick out of the fact that even though he wasn't in the country, the Ministry was afraid enough of him to postpone the Triwizard Tournament by a year.

When he wasn't spending time with Sirius, Harry was busy crafting a magical glove. It was an idea he had in his fourth year – something to even the odds in a fight. The rune-inscribed glove drained a bit of mana from him over time to fuel spells that could be cast with gestures and pressing different fingers together. The newest version could create a flash-shield – a powerful version of _Protego_ , which only lasted a second or two, cast banishers, a basic _Diffindo_ that Harry tweaked to be able to cut through anything that bound his hands and not injure himself and a summoning spell for his wand. Or any wand really – the runic array responsible ended up a bit wrong, and after thinking a bit, Harry left it like that so that it could double as a weak _Expelliarmus._

Harry also wanted to recreate his Awesome Robes of Levitation, which was his best work so far – aside from brooms and flying carpets, there wasn't really anything to enable flight, and he was extremely proud of creating something completely new. Ultimately, he decided to improve on the design before making Robe Mk.2.

As he walked up the stairs, Harry absently leaned sideways to dodge the cursed tapestry that came alive every third time somebody not added to a particular list passed by and tried to smother the trespasser. He walked out of the range of the grasping cloth, then stopped and turned around ponderously. A corner of his mouth twisted slightly upwards as he pulled his wand from his pocket.

A moment later, the annoyance was permanently gone. With a merry whistle, Harry turned around and continued upwards, and onwards.

He entered the library and paused for a couple of seconds, pondering over his choice of reading for the next hour. After grabbing _The Greatest Works of Magical Craft in XVI-XIX centuries,_ he sat on the very comfortable armchair and started reading, trying to distract himself from the small pit of anxiousness in his stomach. Half an hour later, he admitted defeat and settled down for a nap in the same chair.

(O)(O)(O)

Sirius woke him up closer to midnight. With no one in the house except the two and Kreacher, it seemed like a good time to start packing and take off.

Well, they tried.

"What do you mean – leave the motorcycle?! It's the only thing that kept me sane in this house!"

"It's not like we'll be in this horrible house for it to save your sanity… and what will you do with it anyway?"

"What are you going to do with that many books?"

"Read them, of course," Harry lifted an eyebrow.

"Well, I'm going to continue my work! I can't abandon my baby here; Dung will make off with it as soon as he finds a large enough expanded bag." Sirius sniffled here, stroking his motorcycle as if it were the family pet.

"Fine. But you're carrying it… wherever you wanted to carry stuff," Harry frowned in confusion. "By the way, do we take trunks or something?"

Sirius grinned and waved at something covered by a sheet of dust significantly thinner than usual for this house.

"No, not exactly. See, I bought these pretties back when I decided to take a vacation in the colonies."

"Backpacks?" Harry took one of the ordinary, decent-sized objects and started wiping the dust off it.

"Yep. I bought only one initially, and started enchanting it, but something went wrong, and I had to buy a second one and start all over again." Sirius grimaced, but brightened almost immediately, "I've since fixed it, so it works fine. It has two compartments, as you can see, and three pockets. Look, each compartment has two zippers. That's because each of them has two sub-compartments – one normal, and the other has an undetectable expansion charm on, and it can be accessed by opening it with the other zipper. Any muggle scans will only show the contents of the first and no muggle can see, let alone open the second zipper. Neat, huh?"

Harry nodded thoughtfully and smirked as he glanced at the proud face of his godfather.

"Remus helped, didn't he?"

"Yup. He did that expansion charm thingie, and when I asked him how he knew to trick muggle scans, he got very evasive."

Harry snorted.

"So, you think that he's a smuggler?"

"Oh I _know_ he's a smuggler, I just want to see how long it will take him to admit it," Sirius answered cheerfully.

(O)(O)(O)

A couple of hours later, they walked out of the house. Harry sighed deeply, trying to suppress the sudden anxiety, and turned to Sirius.

"All right, let's make sure we haven't forgotten anything. Money?"

"Check."

"Clothes?"

"Check."

"Camping gear?"

"Check."

"Just-in-case supplies?"

"Check."

"Wands?"

"Check."

"Wards?"

"Taken care of."

"Portkey?"

"Goes off in a couple of minutes. Here you go," Sirius started ruffling in his pockets, and after a couple of seconds managed to extricate a rubber duck out of somewhere.

"Are all of your pockets expanded?"

"Yep. You have no idea just on how many occasions it proved useful to have a lot of junk stashed somewhere on your person."

The duo grabbed the portkey, and the world became a whirlwind of warped space.

(O)(O)(O)

At the same time, far to the north, in a particular magical castle, another person was not asleep at the witching hour.

Albus Dumbledore was sitting in his office still awake, his eyes staring ahead contemplatively. His pensieve stood on the table before him, filled to the brim with silvery strands of thoughts as if mirroring the state of its master. The Elder Wand was circling the rim of the priceless device, held in an idle hand of the old wizard.

To say that he was concerned would be a gross understatement.

The memories that Harry gave him of that night in the graveyard were a cause of great alarm and equally great relief. Voldemort was without a doubt, truly alive once more; which was catastrophic even without considering the inevitable death toll the coming war would provide. His return would certainly galvanise the blood purists and traditionalists (despite the massive degree of intersection, there were some differences in the two main movements of the political world of the Wizarding Britain). Dumbledore's moderates and the barely formed progressives would lose the positions they earned in the last fifteen years, and his work might as well be reduced to ash. He would likely perish in this war, he knew, so his only hope was a successor.

Unfortunately, the one most likely candidate to defeat Voldemort – and gain the popularity and influence to really change things – was not in the least inclined to do so. Harry Potter was feeling justifiably wary at the idea of facing a fully-fledged Dark Lord with decades of experience and was far more likely to flee Britain than participate in the fight.

Dumbledore sighed and took a sugar-topped lemon slice from a dish on a nearby shelf. He knew that something happened during Harry's confrontation with the possessed Quirrell in the Philosopher's Stone debacle five years earlier, but he knew not what exactly it was. Legilimency attack, most likely, judging by the effects. After that event, Harry had exhibited some traits that could not be attributed to simply living through a dangerous experience – cautiousness, egocentricity, self-absorption and a deep-seated fascination with magic. Not bad traits in moderation, certainly, but uncharacteristic of him before the event. No, it was more than likely that Voldemort attempted Legilimency, but it was disrupted by his state. Mind magic was dangerous under best conditions, with the risk of mental contamination, and in such perilous circumstances was guaranteed to have undesirable consequences.

A sudden chill broke him out of his thoughts and snapped him to alertness. He could feel his magic churning ever-so-slightly, accepting an unknown contribution, and then settling. He blinked in puzzlement. It felt much like he was just handed control over some rather impressive wards.

His eyes widened behind his signature half-moon glasses. "Phineus! Wake up, my friend!"

The portrait of the least liked Hogwarts Headmaster in history stopped pretending to be asleep.

"There's no need to shout, I'm up. What do you need, Albus?"

"Go to your frame in the Black London residence. I need you to see if Harry and Sirius are there. Return immediately if you spot them."

"Fine. What has my great-great-grandson done now?" The Slytherin alumni gave him a doubting glance but walked out of his frame. After five minutes, he ran back.

"Albus, they're gone. Kreacher told me that they left not too long ago."

The headmaster sat down on his chair and put his face in his hands.

"Oh you foolish, foolish boys…"

(O)(O)(O)

Harry blinked himself awake in a small room of a rather dingy hotel that they had stumbled upon last night. It was the only hotel in the vicinity that they could stay in. The beds were not what he would call cosy, but they sufficed (after all this was still better than eleven years in a cupboard).

The sound of running water and low-pitched singing indicated that Sirius had decided to take a shower. Harry sat up on the bed and tilted his head slightly. Was that an aria he was hearing?

He shrugged and started putting on his trousers. A rectangular object in his left pocket poked him, reminding of its presence. After finally defeating the stubborn fly, Harry took the offending object out.

A leather-bound passport glinted innocently. The teen opened it reluctantly and looked at his photo and the name beside it.

 _Harry Peverell._

It just drove home the fact that a large part of his life ended, and there was no going back. He didn't know whether the weird feeling in his stomach and chest was borne by fear, sadness, anxiety or happiness. Most likely an amalgamation of all those.

His new name was agreed upon after much deliberation with Sirius, who declared that he needed a new one. He didn't argue with that, considering that he didn't wish to land himself back in prison, which he had narrowly escaped not so long ago, just because of his _infamous_ name.

For convenience's sake, Sirius had asked him to choose a name of a long lost line of one of his ancestors. Something about verification spells for signatures and other methods of name checking. They spent a couple of evenings pouring over the dusty genealogy books looking for a suitable candidate and ended up with the Peverells – a powerful and well-respected family which had died out in the middle of the seventeenth century, its last daughter marrying a Potter.

As for Sirius, his documents declared him to be Sirius Lythgow – a family that had become extinct in the male line by the late fourteenth century.

Harry lifted his head as he heard the door to the bathroom open. Sirius stumbled out, pulling a towel tighter around himself.

"Oh, you're awake? I thought you would be out for at least another couple hours," he noted cheerfully.

Harry shrugged, moving past his godfather into the bathroom.

"Well, it was hard to sleep through your singing. Opera, much?"

"Meh, I was quiet. Wasn't I?"

"Nevermind. So, what's the plan for today?"

"Put some glamours on, visit the local magical alley. Maybe look around the muggle side of Paris for some time."

"Good enough for me."

(O)(O)(O)

The magical side of Paris was, simply put, breathtaking. _Long Jardin_ – the Long Garden – was a living, breathing entity composed of interweaving buildings and enormous amounts of greenery flowing from the numerous balconies. The living ceiling was even somewhat luminescent, completing the charm. Harry just couldn't help staring at everything around him, disregarding the occasional disparaging glance from locals with ease born of constant practice.

The only thing sticking out like a sore thumb was the Gringotts branch, the strict white walls which were overall disharmonic with earthly tones of surrounding buildings and the flora.

Almost immediately, the duo decided to separate for a while – their hotel was barely ten minutes' walk from the entrance of the Garden (which, like Diagon Alley, was hidden from the Muggles, but was situated in a rather fancy bar instead of a pub), so they just agreed to meet up there in the evening. Sirius went off to find something or another pertaining to Quidditch or single witches (whichever he saw first).

Harry shook his head fondly and turned around sharply, trying to take the whole street in. Choosing a shop at random, he went in with a grin.

(O)(O)(O)

The day passed so quickly Harry barely noticed the darkening of the sky. What he did notice, though, was the rumbling of his stomach, which forced him to abandon a very promising little junk store, full of weird knick-knacks of unknown purpose (the owner was less than helpful in that regard), to search for a nice restaurant to soothe his growing hunger.

When Harry exited the shop, he realized ruefully that he got carried away even more than he thought – it was already dark, and the grumbling in his stomach was loud enough for a couple of passing women to throw him disapproving looks. The teen shrugged and went for the exit. Sirius had pointed out a nearby shawarma joint in the morning and had recommended him to dine there, as the bar that covered the entrance to the Garden had sky-high prices for food, not good for peripatetics.

Ten minutes later, Harry was inhaling the shawarma while inspecting his purchases of the day. A crapload of leather sheets and a silver ingot for his enchanting projects, a glyph-encrusted belt, a dragon-hide sleeveless jacket and boots of the same material. All enchanted for durability and climate-control, as the seller had assured him. All in all, Harry thought about returning tomorrow and treating himself to a couple of nice sets of clothes, seeing as he owned hardly any, and none of it was nice by any definition.

In any case, it was past time to return to the hotel. Harry shrugged the jacket on and put the rest into an expanded pocket. Walking outside, he looked around and set off in the direction of the hotel.

Half-an-hour later, he had to admit that he was absolutely lost.

The neighbourhood he found himself in was completely unlike the area that he sought, looking more like a tasteful version of Privet Drive instead of the city blocks.

And it was way too quiet.

(O)(O)(O)

Not ten minutes had passed before Harry Potter was contemplating whether the universe truly hated him or was it just bad luck. A dodged off-blue curse later, he decided that if it was the latter, then he must have been kept on a Malaclaw venom diet when he was a child.

The suspected poisoning by luck-be-gone aside, he truly didn't know what to do. He was attacked by only one of the guys in dark clothing, and he was barely managing to stay alive. It was only the wizard's surprise at his seeming mastery of wandless shields that allowed Harry to land a medical stasis charm on his leg that disabled it for the foreseeable future. For that moment, Harry could only stay on the defensive and hope to see an opening that could be exploited or allowed him to get the hell out of dodge.

The young witch that was the dreadful trio's original target was seemingly having little trouble so far – the opposition was rather good, near Hitwizard-level, but she was much better. She was adept in battle transfiguration, for one, which was an effective power equalizer. Still, two-on-one was not very good odds, and Harry didn't like his chances at all while dealing with only one opponent, and there was a danger of one of the others taking a pot shot.

Harry braced himself and focused on his own enemy. A breath in, out – and he was utilising his Occlumency. No two Occlumenti were alike in their application of the craft – one could create impenetrable barriers, another could choose deception of the potential intruders, while the third could, for example, quadruple his memory retention and recall speed or even make his mind into a calculator.

Harry's focus was always on emotional control, reaction speed and thought acceleration. During their occasional tutoring sessions, Flitwick often wondered at the sheer speed that Harry showed in adapting to his environment and coming up with ingenious spell combinations. He still never stopped reminding Harry to keep things simple and drilled the three "D"s of winning in magical combat in his head. _Disadvantage, Disorient, Destroy._

 _All right, we have a rather skilled opponent who doesn't know our dueling style and has never seen anyone who uses enchanted equipment to fight. He took a stasis to his leg, so he can't move much, but he is casting quickly,_ Harry thought, making a guarding motion with his left arm, which once again activated his rune-covered glove and created a shimmering flash-shield. A bright red concussion hex exploded against it uselessly, only managing to make Harry wince from the muted noise. The shield dissipated after a second, allowing Harry to retaliate with a basic _Incendio_ , which forced the dark-robed combatant to use a shield himself or be roasted. _Disadvantage, check. Disorient or distract, in progress._

Harry conjured a small flight of birds, then enlarged them and sicced them on to his opponent, who managed to send a piercing curse (dodged by a hair's breadth) in his direction before becoming occupied with the conjurations. Those conjured birds had some rather advanced AI though, Flitwick made sure Harry knew how to make his conjurations to never stay in one pack, unless he created them to block something, so that the standard response to Oppugno – _Incendio_ and its relatives – was ineffective. _Distract, check. Wait, is the pavement inclined in his direction?_ _Yes, yes, it is._

" _Aguamenti Salum._ "

A huge stream of water escaped his wand and splashed against the pavement, creating a creek running in the direction of the wizard who was still struggling with the oversized birds, occasionally sending a spell (easily shielded against or dodged) at Harry. The young wizard smirked and made a punching motion with his left arm, sending a moderate-strength, but invisible banishing spell. His wand, at the same time, pointed at the water near him, which he very pointedly stayed out of, and his opponent was standing in.

" _Fulminis Liquor_."

A thin string of visible lightning connected Harry's wand with the water, twisting and forking near the end. The banishing charm pushed the snarling opponent back, and he floundered slightly on his immobile left foot.

He took a step back.

One thing that Flitwick stressed when he talked about lightning-related spells were that they were notoriously difficult to aim, a few high-level exemplars notwithstanding. However, he did teach his favourite trick that could quickly disable a few opponents at the same time by making them move in water that you targeted with lightning.

In any case, both the woman and the other two unknowns were momentarily halted by a short, hoarse scream from their comrade, who fell to the ground in spasms. Harry summoned the man's wand and grinned. _Ah, french fries..._

A brutally pulsing red curse headed in his direction was the response to his recent victory. He jumped to the side and answered with another flock of oversized birds.

With their advantage in numbers equalled, the enemy quickly started losing ground. Not a minute later, the apparent leader barked something that Harry didn't catch. After shooting a couple of curses more or less blindly, they vanished with a pop, not sparing their fallen comrade a single glance. The teen would have sighed in relief, but a pained whimper and the clutter of a wand falling to the ground interrupted him.

The woman was looking at him with wild panic in her eyes. Her hands were clutching her throat, and bright red was leaking through the fingers.

"Oh, no…"

Harry dashed to her side and caught her as she fell on her knees, a momentary look of panic on his face replaced by forced calm.

It was a gift from heaven that one of the stasis spells Harry knew and used in duels could be used in situations like this. He immediately cast it on the dying woman and sighed in relief as her body was shrouded in rings of white mist, signifying successful application. As far as she was concerned, time had stopped. Her entire bodily functions were paused, including the newly inflicted wound. Medical charms were a very rare example of time magic that was deemed safe for common use even after the Atlantis debacle. Slowing or even stopping personal time didn't present many opportunities for cataclysmic events.

Now that the woman was no longer in immediate danger, Harry started ruffling through her things to ascertain her identity and get an idea of what to do. He no longer knew where he was, so finding a hospital would be problematic given the late hour.

In one of the front pockets of her coat, he managed to find a note in French. After fiddling with the amulet on his neck and tapping his glasses with his wand, he managed to read it. It was seemingly a to-do list and mentioned someone called Fibbly. That sounded like a house elf. _Definitely worth a try._

"Fibbly?"

A quiet pop and a groan made him turn around. Indeed, the name belonged to a house elf, presumably owned by the very woman that he saved. The elf was a bit taller than what he was used to from his experiences with Hogwarts elves, a bit more healthy-looking too.

"Oh Mistress Joan, what have you done to yourself this time?" The elf (female, by Harry's guess) exclaimed in exasperation and looked at the teen. "Thank you for summoning me, monsieur. She hasn't been herself lately after her father died. I'm sorry you had to see her drunk, not a pleasant sight."

Harry blinked, filing the information along with his surprise at the first elf he met that could talk without butchering grammar.

"Ah, I think you got it all wrong. Unfortunately, she's not drunk."

"Unfortunately?" Fibbly started eyeing him wearily. Harry stepped to the side, allowing the elf to see her mistress for the first time. The little creature squeaked in fright and ran to the side of the levitating figure.

"I managed to put her in medical stasis, but she needs to see a healer, and quickly. She was attacked by three men. I was around and gave her some assistance. They fled, but one of their last curses clipped her," Harry explained quickly.

"Oh no no no no, Mistress Joan, how do you get in these situations?" The elf whimpered and put her head in her arms. After a couple of seconds, she straightened, and a look of resolve came upon her.

"Thank you for your help. You have done a great service to my family today. Will you agree to accompany us to the manor? I fear that your spell might wear off, and I don't trust myself when it comes to things like that."

"Shouldn't we bring her to a hospital or something like that?" Harry frowned. The elf shook her head.

"If Mistress was attacked, it means that they knew where to find her. Getting into a hospital is child's play. Getting into our home – nearly impossible. Now, take my hand and we'll be off."

Harry nodded, accepting her reasoning. It wasn't like he knew how to get to his hotel, anyway, and the elf could – hopefully – help him get there. He looked around, trying to see if he missed anything. The thug he'd fried was beginning to stir, but Harry knew that neural damage would keep him down for a while. He was already reaching out to take the elf's hand when a glint in the corner of his eye caught his attention. Something was lying on the ground near the woman's neck. It looked like a pendant or an amulet. He grabbed it without a second thought and placed his hand on Fibbly.

A loud pop later, the trio were gone.

 **Author's note**

You have no idea for how long I have been nursing this one. In any case, here we go. Artificier!Harry, lots of new and previously almost unexplored kinds of magic, different races - I've got it all and more! My schedule is pretty hectic lately, but I think I'll manage a chapter a month.

See you guys in April!


	2. Chapter 2

Lord Voldemort was bored.

Frankly, this condition was becoming more and more familiar to him as time went on. In his youth, the unending search for power and uncovering the secrets of ancient magic never left him with much spare time. Afterwards, he focused on building a web of contacts and securing alliances in preparation for the upcoming war. The war itself – which, he readily admitted, wasn't really such but a series of guerrilla strikes and terrorism – rarely provided any spare time.

Now? Now all he had to do was wait for his underlings to complete their tasks and report back with success or failure.

The Ministry was still blissfully unaware of his return, and the Order of the Phoenix (he allowed himself a disgusted sneer at the ridiculous name) was as ineffective as always. Dumbledore did a rather good job of delaying his inevitable pact with the werewolves and somewhat strained the negotiations with the giant clans. However, this appeared to be the only thing he did, besides setting out a guard around the Department of Mysteries. Honestly, who did the doddering old fool take him for? Divination was so ridiculed for a very good reason, even if it did spawn an assortment of ridiculously useful techniques, such as scrying. The prophecy about Potter and him was never something he'd put much stock in, no matter what others may believe. Still, it wouldn't hurt to put forth some token effort into recovering the prophecy – it would occupy the old man, and wars were always waged with deception. Successful ones, at any rate. The longer no one was aware of his true aims, the better.

Voldemort smirked ever-so-slightly. Oh, but the irony. As he learned the day he made an attempt on the Philosopher's Stone, Harry Potter, his prophesied nemesis, had become a living vessel of his soul; however dormant that part of him might be. He had felt an echo of himself when he attempted Legilimency on the boy, trying to destroy him after he was thwarted and his servant's body had crumbled to dust. That following attempt was also rebuffed eventually by the protection that Lily Potter had bequeathed upon her son. It was not a futile endeavor however, for he had managed to somewhat influence him. He wasn't sure as to what the effects of that action were, and was rather curious of it.

Out of the same curiosity, he had recently visited the place of his downfall, the little cottage in Godric's Hallow. There, he found an echo of magic signifying a breach of a magical contract. After a lengthy search, he found a cracked wardstone on which a very simple contract was recorded, mixed in with a couple of ritualistic elements taken from blood magic - trading a life of a parent for the life of the child.

Oh, if he hadn't been so incensed, he would have applauded Lily Potter's brilliance. In fact, after a couple of hours, when he had calmed down, he once again lamented over the fact that they never swore an allegiance to him. His minions, barring a few exceptions, were not the brightest minds in the magical world.

This little expedition finally answered the question he'd pondered for so many years while being little more than an apparition. However, it still left him wondering as to what he should do with Potter.

His minions did a good job in blaming the boy for the other champion's death, and right now, Harry was cooling his heels in Azkaban, in the high security wing together with his most trusted lieutenants. Speaking of which, Voldemort heard a very characteristic knock of a cane on stone floor behind him. He turned his head slightly to the side, acknowledging the presence of one of his more competent people.

"Lucius, what news do you bring me?"

"My lord, I have formed a list of known Unspeakables as per your order," the man answered with a bow.

Voldemort took the offered parchment and looked through the names with some interest. He was always interested in the Department of Mysteries, even if his usual occupations rarely allowed him to focus on it for any significant length of time. Well, now was his chance.

"Good. Start recruiting - carefully - and gather as much information on their research as you can. In the meantime, inform others that we are moving on Azkaban by the end of September."

This was ahead of schedule, but there really wasn't much stopping him and he had his reasons. Azkaban is not good for your sanity, especially if you were young. If Potter was to be of any service, he needed him relatively sane. If he wasn't, well…

Clean, instant death by the Killing Curse was far better than slowly going insane in such a place. In Voldemort's mind, such a death was a mark of respect, and his so-called "nemesis" did deserve that courtesy, at least. Of course, only after his accidental Horcrux was transferred to a suitable vessel.

(O)(O)(O)

Harry blinked as the whirlwind of colours characteristic to elf travel vanished. He found himself in a large hall. The furniture was rather opulent, and paintings were hung everywhere. They looked muggle, to his mild surprise – he had expected magical portraits.

A distressed sound from his side attracted his attention. If the slowly dripping blood was anything to go by, the stasis charm was rapidly degrading after exposure to house elf magic. He reapplied the charm quickly.

"Betcher!" Fibbly yelled. A loud pop signified the appearance of another elf, this one far older, his tattered uniform (several stitched-together handkerchiefs, by the looks of it) worn to the degree that the original colours were no longer recognisable.

"What happened to Mistress?" he asked in a voice that sounded just as old and worn as his clothing. "And who is Monsieur? You know we are not supposed to invite guests."

Harry blinked at the lack of horrible accent before remembering that the translation amulet Sirius gave him filtered out things like that.

"If I may?" Harry glanced at Fibbly, who pinked slightly at the sign of respect from a wizard. "She was attacked by a trio of wizards unknown to me. I happened to be nearby and was dragged into the fight. I incapacitated one of them, and the others were forced to retreat. However, one of their last curses clipped her in the neck. I applied a stasis charm, so she has some time. I was invited along in case it suddenly fails."

Betcher stared at him in silence. Harry had the weirdest urge to fidget under the appraising look.

"Very well," the elf finally said. "You have our sincere thanks, young man. How can we repay your kindness?"

Harry smiled awkwardly.

"Well, you see, I was a bit lost. If I am no longer needed, then could you transport me to the entrance of Long Jardin?"

"Fibbly, do it. I will summon Monsieur Meareu."

As the female elf nodded and reached for Harry's arm, a loud, reverberating gong sounded, coming seemingly from the walls themselves. Both little creatures froze in their places while the teen winced.

" _He_ is attacking?" Betcher was still completely unflappable about the situation. "Fibbly, take care of the young man. Afterwards, start packing old masters' works. Summon the others to help."

"Yes," she nodded and immediately popped away with the worried young wizard.

Not two seconds later, the wards around the property warped and shattered, making the old elf stagger and fall to his knees.

"Intruders… must save Master's work, must save Mistress," he grumbled, and tried to stand.

The door was blasted off its hinges, and four robed figures darted inside, wands blazing. The last thing that Betcher saw was a red spell heading straight for his head.

(O)(O)(O)

Harry ran into the hotel room, panting. Sirius, who had been lying down and reading a phone book, by the looks of it, dropped it immediately and jumped on his feet.

"Harry? What happened? Where were you?"

The teen lifted a finger while trying to catch his breath.

"Long… story. We need to get out of France, as quickly as possible. I'm afraid the exploration of nudist beaches will have to wait."

Sirius blinked. He never told his godson about his plans to visit those. Powering through the confusion, he nodded, took his wand out and started packing.

"Fine. There should be some sort of transport to Switzerland. Tell me on the way."

A minute of magically aided packing later, the duo thundered down the stairs and determinedly power-walked outside.

"So, where to?" Harry asked, looking around worriedly.

Sirius just grunted.

"I saw a couple of buses bound to Switzerland yesterday. Hopefully, at least one of them is still here."

(O)(O)(O)

Luck was finally on their side, it seemed, even if they had to search for a bus for a couple of hours until they found a tourist group who were leaving for Switzerland in the middle of the night.

Convincing a driver to let them on without any pay was all too easy with the aid of compulsion charms. The two wizards sat well back on the bus and raised simplistic wards to avert attention and muffle their speech.

After this was done, Sirius finally allowed himself to ask the questions on his mind.

"Harry, where were you? What kind of mess have you got into to warrant such a quick escape? We've been here for barely a day!"

The teen frowned and looked outside the window as the bus stopped at the red light.

"Honestly, hell if I know. It started when I got lost near the entrance to Long Jardin."

"How did you manage that? The hotel's on the same freaking street!"

"The shawarma joint confused me, I think. There were two exits, and I guess I didn't look where I was going for a couple of minutes."

"Damn, you're worse than James ever was," Sirius grumbled, "and I thought he had a problem with daydreaming at the least suitable moment."

Harry shrugged sheepishly.

"In any case, twenty minutes later, I was absolutely lost…"

(O)(O)(O)

Betcher came to consciousness instantly, like a switch was flipped, with a mild headache forming from the rude jolt of an _Ennervate._ He dare not complain, though: as soon as he opened his eyes, he froze in horror. Or, maybe, that was the work of a petrification charm.

A very tall, wide-shouldered, dark-skinned man was standing right above him, looking at the prostrate elf thoughtfully. His robes were of a cut clearly not European in origin, ornate and hinting at African make. The wand in the man's hand was also intricately carved, patterned and encrusted with small red stones.

"I have come to something of a quandary, my little friend," he spoke, seemingly to the air, a faint hint of Haiti in his accent. "I have come here to acquire a certain object, which your former master created. It should have been here, and yet it is not."

Betcher licked his lips and tried to surreptitiously break the spell on him. He was unsuccessful.

"This is most dissatisfying, as you might guess. Still, there are ways for me to get what I want. Care to guess them?"

The Tall Man smiled slightly and nodded to someone outside the elf's view. When Betcher looked in that direction, he saw his mistress being levitated out of the side room. Her neck was healed, from what he could see, but she was still deathly pale.

"Seeing as your mistress didn't know anything of value, you have two options here, my little friend. You can bring me what I want, and I and my men will leave, never to return. I will not hurt your mistress anymore, as I would have no reason to. Or, you can be obstinate, and I will have to start getting my hands dirty. Am I understood?"

The old elf nodded fearfully, his eyes glued to the still form of the young woman.

"So, what do you choose?"

Finally, Betcher looked at the Tall Man.

"The stone is always on the mistress."

"No, no, I have already searched both her and all of the mansion. She doesn't know its whereabouts either, which makes you the only living being who might know its location. I'm running out of patience, elf."

The little creature whined softly, and then an idea popped into his head that made him screech in outrage.

"The boy! The boy must have it!"

"Whatever do you mean?"

"The boy helped mistress fight your people. He's the only one who could have taken the stone from mistress."

"Is that so?" The Tall Man leaned slightly to the side, as if listening to something that no one else could hear. His face cleared after a moment. "Well, it seems that you are indeed correct. You're going to keep your mistress. Now, tell me about this boy."

Ten minutes later, the Tall Man exited the manor, a couple of people waiting for him in the garden.

"Have our men conduct a search for a young wizard," he ordered tiredly. "Long dark hair, green eyes. British."

"That's not much to go on, boss," one of the men answered apologetically. He wore some sort of open, shortened robe that looked more like a coat worn over a pair of militaristic-looking pants and shirt. He was powerfully built, exuding an air of calm watchfulness, starkly in contrast to his partner, a reedy, twitchy figure who has so far been silent. "We're not likely to get anything. Especially if he has left the country, which I am pretty sure he must have if he has any amount of sense in him."

"Muggle channels," the Twitchy muttered, the fingers of his left hand drumming on the pocket of his trenchcoat. An outline in the shape of a carton of cigarettes could be seen inside of it. "Bus or train. Less hassle, no trace at all."

Their employer sighed and turned to look at the manor's door, which opened to allow the last of his people inside to leave.

"This is _most_ dissatisfying," he said and hummed in thought. After a few seconds of thought, he waved his hand in frustration. "Do the search anyway. I'll have to consult the spirits on this. They will find him, but it is a very lengthy process."

"Sure. By the way, we recovered Rickardson. He's been hit by a lightning spell. There are no burns, though," the Calm Man adopted a faintly puzzled look. "Still, he's a bit frazzled and gets confused easily. Not to mention the fact that his heart stopped five minutes into his debrief. It's lucky we had a medic on hand."

"Will he make a full recovery?"

"We believe so, yes."

"Has he said anything to help identify the young man?"

"No. Just that he was obviously trained, if an amateur. He's also crafty and used some sort of artifact to shield himself."

"Toys? Budding enchanter or noble," Twitchy supplied, finally giving in and lighting up a cigarette. After a long drag he added: "Narrows the search a bit."

"Agreed," the Tall Man nodded and looked around at the gathered company of fifteen wizards. "We are done here."

A multitude of cracks later, the small garden was empty.

(O)(O)(O)

The duo exited the bus in Geneva, stretching their legs after the long journey. Harry winced at the summer sun and tapped his glasses, making them darker and reinforcing the glamour that covered his face. Sirius glanced around and started walking towards the lake lazily. Harry followed.

"So, what's the plan?"

"In Switzerland? Well, there's not much in Geneva aside of the ICW headquarters and a lot of law enforcement. We better get a move on as soon as possible," Sirius muttered under his nose, and his shoulders hunched a bit.

"We could have stayed with that group, you know," Harry pointed out. "They were going to Lausanne, next."

"We need to visit an old acquaintance of mine. He has his eyes everywhere, and can give us some direction and news. Lesson one of being on the run: learn as much as you can about what's going on in the countries you are in or plan to visit. Same goes for cities."

Harry hummed in agreement as they entered a small antique shop off the road.

The acquaintance turned out to be an older gentleman of distinctly Hispanic appearance, immaculately, if a bit extravagantly, dressed and with a constant half-smirk that made it look like he was aware of some joke about you. After Sirius verified that they and the owner were the only ones in the store, he dropped his glamour for a couple of seconds.

"Mr White! What a wonderful surprise!" The owner called out merrily from behind his counter. "Come in, come in. And you have company! What happened, have you forgotten your contraception some time fifteen years ago?"

Sirius snorted and rolled his eyes.

"As if I could forget something like that. No, this is my godson, who is actually also on the run. I would appreciate if you kept things quiet."

The store owner looked affronted as he closed the store (opened barely ten minutes before) and put out a sign.

"Of course, who are you taking me for? Anyway, come in," he motioned, tapping a huge wardrobe just next to the entrance with a wand that was not in his hand a moment ago.

The wardrobe opened with a slight creak, revealing a staircase that was much larger than that wall should have been able to house. Sometimes, Harry decided, magic put just a little too much stress on his spatial thinking.

"Who is he?" he asked quietly as they followed the owner downstairs, the wardrobe clicking shut behind them.

"His name is Gabriel Suero. He's a big name in muggle and magical antique restoration, as well as the head of the largest and most successful smuggling operation of Europe," Sirius answered quietly as the man they were talking about started tapping the walls in no discernible pattern. "He's got ears everywhere and has a lot of favours accumulated."

"I can also find anything and anyone for the right price," Gabriel threw over his shoulder, opening the door to the basement. "Or make sure that someone won't be found."

"Whoa," Harry breathed as he entered the room. The walls were almost completely hidden by tall bookshelves, full of tomes that made the books of Hogwarts Library look new. He had seen something like this in the Black library, but the sight was impressive nonetheless. What little wall space the bookshelves left was occupied by paintings of muggle origin if Harry wasn't mistaken. It was all finished with an oak table and four chairs, each intricately carved and immaculately kept. The ever-so-slight scent of _old things_ hung in the air.

"Welcome to my humble abode," the owned said, sitting down behind the desk. "I have always been partial to the old principle: business before pleasure. Let us discuss what you came for, shall we?"

The duo also sat down.

"Business first, huh?" Sirius mused. "Well, first of all, we are planning to take a rather big trip all around the magical world. It would be appreciated if you told us of anything of note that has happened or is going to happen in Europe."

Suero didn't even blink at the query, merely leaning back in his seat as he started recounting details.

"If sightseeing is your aim, then I advise you to visit Germany first. The magical park near the Black Forest opened a couple of months ago. It has been quiet there for the last couple of years, nothing of note – the local crime, such as it is, is solidifying its positions and doesn't take any risks. Aurors are unlikely to pay much attention to your comings and goings," Gabriel smirked slightly and started riffling through a thick folder.

"Eastern Europe as a whole should be avoided – the political climate is unstable there, and the local law enforcement is extremely wary and volatile. Not many exceptional spots for recreation, either.

"As to the south – well, Greece is always a unique experience. So many magical creatures on a given square kilometre it required a specific mutual avoidance charm to ensure secrecy.

"Also, I think you should visit Egypt – there's an Artificers' Assembly in a month. Hell, I would go, but business doesn't leave much time for things like that."

Sirius nodded. "Thanks. We would also appreciate it if you gave us a couple of contacts in case we need a quick getaway."

The contrabandist hummed in thought.

"Possible, but it will cost you. Your shenanigans can draw attention to my people, potentially setting me back months."

"Hopefully, we will not need it. I'm asking just in case."

"Mr. Black, I am rather familiar with your… unique luck. Do you, perchance, remember that little accident a couple of years ago in August, Majorca?" Harry's godfather rubbed his forehead bashfully and averted his eyes. "And those incidents in Las Vegas, barely a month after? No, I think that if I granted you the use of my people, you would use it much more often than I'd be comfortable with. Therefore, if you wish such a privilege, you will pay two thousand galleons now and five hundred whenever you employ my men."

The meeting concluded only a couple of hours later, after Sirius was done extracting the information he needed about the state of business in most of the countries they planned to visit as well as haggling the price of Suero's assistance down to one and a half thousands.

After a few hours to look around the town, they found a nice spot to sit and look at the great fountain as the sunset bloomed in the west.

"Say, Harry, do you have any muggle currency on you?" Sirius asked, eyeing an ice-cream stand.

"Yeah, there was something left from the shawarma," Harry muttered and started searching his pockets. After a moment, he adopted a surprised expression on his face and took his hand out of his front pocket.

In his palm was… an oval rock. It looked rather plain, if polished to soft shine and warm to the touch. At one end, it had a hole through which a silver chain was put through, hinting at the fact that the stone was meant to be worn on the neck.

"What's that?" Sirius asked lazily.

"Beats me," Harry murmured, trying to recall where he got it, but not quite managing. After a couple of seconds, he shrugged, put the chain around his neck and hid the stone inside of his shirt.

Unseen, a reddish glow surrounded it for a second.

(O)(O)(O)

Harry and Sirius were sitting on a couple of conjured chairs in the shade of a large tree a couple of meters from the edge of the lake. The duo had just finished their mandatory tour of Montreux and were relaxing on the shore with a couple of bottles of butterbeer from their stash.

"So, Germany?"

"Yep. This Black Forest sounds like a lot of fun. I've heard that the real Black Forest was concealed from the muggles when the Statute went into effect. Too many magical creatures, they said," Harry took another swig of the drink, sighing in satisfaction as the pleasant warmth spread through his body.

"It's not like that these days. Hell, even back then the forest had already lost the majority of its occupants. The name came about because of elves – true elves, not the house ones – and they have left for parts unknown a thousand years ago," Sirius noted.

"I know. Still, I reckon it will be interesting," Harry went silent for a couple of moments, a wry grin on his lips. "Is it wrong if I don't much care about where we're going as long as I see that Assembly in Egypt?"

His godfather shook his head.

"You and your enchanting. No, it's not wrong - you're interested in what you are good at. And you are good, kid, especially considering your age."

A corner of Harry's mouth twitched.

"Anyway, what we're going to do is visit Bern tomorrow, and take a tourist bus to Munich. Then we're getting to Baden-Baden on rail."

"Fine by me. Say, what if we just apparate there?"

Sirius laughed.

"Apparition doesn't work like that. You need to know where you're going, for one. I've never been to southern Germany - I had to come to Berlin a couple of times on Order business, but not anywhere else. Also, there's also the way that the ministries have ways of detecting long-range apparition and ones that cross over the borders. I was nearly captured once when I forgot about that little fact."

"Damn. I didn't really like travelling by bus. Too much time wasted."

"I hear you, Harry, but there you have it."

"By the way, before I forget, I need to learn how to Apparate. It's too useful a skill not to have."

"Sure. I'll teach you when we get to the forest. Plenty of secluded spots," Sirius went silent as a gaggle of laughing teenagers passed by them, a couple of adults trudging behind with long-suffering faces. "Have you thought about becoming an animagus?"

Harry snorted.

"Yes. Many times. Not worth it."

His godfather choked slightly on his butterbeer and sent an indignant and questioning look at him.

"What? Are you crazy? It's massively useful!"

"Not really. It depends a lot on the form. What if my form is a fish?"

"No, there aren't any aquatic animagi. There are only ever land creatures. I remember James being very disappointed that he can't become a bird," Sirius explained. "The only animagi that can fly are insects, and those are rather rare."

"Anyway," Harry interrupted, "I will have to drink the goddamn potion to learn my form, and that will knock me out for a week. Did you drink the potion during the summer or what?"

"No, the winter holidays. I remember James had to reenervate Wormtail as the bastard didn't wake up from his trance by the time the classes started," Sirius scowled, as he always did when the traitor came up in a conversation, but then he grinned suddenly. "The spell didn't work, and we had to invent several reasons why he couldn't leave the dormitory. After he woke up, he couldn't understand why all the girls looked at him with pity."

"I really don't want to know," Harry sighed and looked at the mountains' reflection in the still waters of the lake.

So far, life in exile was surprisingly good. If everything went according to the plan, it would continue to do so.

Of course, when was life that simple?

 **Author's note**

I'm very unhappy with this chapter, but it kept resisting me until the bitter end. In any case, the exams are coming, and I doubt I will be able to publish anything new until July. After that I will have much more time to write, plus, my outlines are much better for the chapters after the third, so there shouldn't be any accidents like the contrabandist who arrived in the file without my express knowledge and demanded that I rewrite more than a couple of future plans to suit his needs.

Cheers!


End file.
